Just In Case
by summerlove1
Summary: A prompt fulfilled for stydia-fanfiction - Lydia has a mental break down in front of the Sheriff and he tries to comfort her. He calls Stiles for help because he doesn't know what to do. He watches as stiles calms Lydia down and sees how much they care for each other.


A/N - I had fun with this, even if it is fairly short. I think this could be an indication of Lydia's powers in season five, or at least I'm hoping we get to see her powers getting stronger! Enjoy!

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They were so loud.

The whispers - they were shouting, and screaming - he's going to die.

 _Lydia!_

 _He is going to die!_

Lydia -

Like a siren, around her head their voices echoed, and her voice whimpered above them all. An hollow cavernous scream on the tip of her lips; an ache rising through her dry throat - and it longed for her so scream his name.

 _Shut up - shut up - you are wrong._

In the darkness she brought her hand to her ears in a feeble effort to block the whispering out. She was so warm - pools of sweat dripped from her forehead and onto her grey sheets; a duvet lying on the floor. She forced her tired eyes open, strained in the dark room, and focused on any object she could see.

 _Count your fingers._

Just as Stiles taught, shaking she brought her hands just centimetres from her face.

 _1...2...3...4_

Placing each finger down as she counted. She reached ten and only then did she remember to breathe. She exhaled a trembling and painful gasp of air. Her lungs burned like she had swallowed ash from the atmosphere - a fire burning around her, and though she had clamed herself enough to focus, his name still howled above the white noise that possessed her. Instantly she reached for her phone - just past midnight - and dialled his number. The phone was pressed to her ear as shaking hands tried to hold firm - was the room spinning, or was it her? - and listened with each aching second as the call rang out. Again. And again.

 _He is still going to die, Lydia._

Stiles.

 _Your precious Stiles._

She tried Malia's phone, but again the deathly reminder of a voicemail greeted her. In an instant weak limbs ripped herself from the sodden satin sheets - with vertigo rushing through her it was no easy task - and she fell nimbly to the floor. Her face, so scarred with a scream trapped on her dry lips unable to escape, rested on a dark cream carpet. It was cool and almost a relief for her scorching body that burned at the touch of the midnight air. Yet, there was little relief for Lydia, who surrendered to the cries of the voices just for a moment, and allowed - with much torment and guilt - a second or two to accept her surroundings; to catalogue her limbs, and regain rationality. She was at home, it was midnight. Stiles - he could be in danger.

Lydia reached for the switch of her lamp, and then let the artificial light calm her. On her bedside table were her car keys, which she grabbed. She was sitting up now, and loosely tied her hair back with a discarded bobble and wiped her face with a shaking hand. Lydia knew she had to find him. Lifting herself up from the cool ground, keys and phone in hand, she raced out of her bedroom door and down the stairs. It was irrelevant how she looked - in her shorts and t-shirt she had slept in, and pulling on her running shoes at the door - she kept on dialling Stiles, and then Maila, and then Scott - who answered, and told her he would check the school. Externally she had calmed herself, as she ran to her car and started to drive. Internally, a continuous waterfall of panic rushed through her; a fire that scorched her - and the voices repeating his name until that was all she could hear.

 _Stiles._

Why isn't he answering his phone?

 _He is dying, you can feel him dying._

She drove through a red light-

 _You can hear him, can't you? Feel his heartbeat - he is scared._

No.

 _Breathe Lydia_ \- her car screeched to a halt outside his house. A ten minute journey done in less than five, but eternity to the irrational mind.

It was dark, and so deathly quiet. The only light came from the street lamp a few meters away, and the harsh glow of her headlights. She jumped out the car, but Lydia knew he was not here. Her numb fingers dialled his phone again - and listened - but she could not hear a ring. No, the house was empty and the only noise came from her burning sob that momentarily escaped her.

Lydia was not one to crumble, though every part of her body told her to fall to the cold ground. Instead she sat back in the car and rationalised that recently her power was stronger, but she was unsure of how to adapt with it. In every hour she listened out for her friends names, and every hour she heard them being called and sometimes screamed in her head - they all blurred in between the present and the afterlife. As a Banshee she had acknowledged this, but Lydia could not bear to hear their names whispered-

\- She could not endure his name being called to be taken next.

She had started to drive again, but by no means was she composed. The night air was cool and fresh but Lydia still burned like the sun; and the light of the moon ached her tired and frantic eyes. As the houses passed - from the suburban terraces to the town main street - the one constant was the deathly abandonment of the streets. Every shadow could resemble him, and for a while she drove slowly, longing for her gaze to meet a pair of blinking brown eyes; but the town was deserted and Lydia called his name in hushed tones to no reply.

Eventually her car pulled into the Police Station without any recollection that this is where she desired to go, it was this that scared her. If she found him - unresponsive - _dead_ ; her body could not control an outwards and graceless sob. In a singular moment, her world crumbled; a corpse of herself in the car - the other half too brave and longing, urging her to move - never believing that to breathe was so difficult. She wanted to walk into the police station and reassure herself that this was all in her head. God, she wanted to hold him, and find him, and tell him to never make her believe this. Stiles, her Stiles, not knowing if he was okay, alive, breathing -

 _Go and find him, Lydia._

 _Go and find the body. Is that not what you do? Find the corpse of those you could have saved?_

 _Stiles._

 _Go and find Stiles' body._

Lydia stepped out of the car. Her eyes, wide and streaming with tears, stared at the police station; and she walked - crumbling at each trembling step - through the doors and into the glare of the artificial light -

"Lydia?" She looked up.

"Sheriff -" she choked and then caved as he walked over to her and led her - almost carried her - into his office and shut the door.

"Lydia, what's wrong?" he urged, taking a step back from the girl.

"Stiles - where's Stiles?"

"He's just getting -"

"Where is Stiles!" She screamed, this time with little composure over her actions. She shook quite visibly. Her hands, unable to stay still, gripped a nearby chair; and she fell into the wall with an uncontrollable sob that echoed the room.

"Where is he? I tried the house - he is not at the school-"

"Hey, hey" he tried to sooth her, "He will be right back," but the words did not acknowledge with her. She ached, and called his name.

"If I lose him - I can't lose him. Not like I lost Allison. Not like I lost Aiden. They all leave, they all die, because I can't save them. I can't save Stiles."

"Stiles is okay, he is getting food. I'm sure I just heard his jeep pull up"

To watch the strongest of people cave is a painful occurrence. For the Sheriff, who reached his arm out to the girl only to watch her pull away, stood as a hopeless bystander in her fall. He knew that this was more than Stiles, no matter how crucial a catalyst his son was. What do you say to someone who carries death in their shaking hands? Her warmth that she always radiated now burned - and she burned - like a fire that had lost control. Images of red and gold scorched her devastated stature, and tears that burned like a match to her pale skin, fell until a desolate sob escaped.

"I have so much power, but I don't understand. I don't understand why I can't save them."

She never heard him enter, but The Sheriff has never been so glad to see his son, and not just because he was carrying their order of McDonalds. His reaction was instant: He dropped the bag to the floor, and the chips he had been eating were swallowed suddenly. The Sheriff hesitantly placed a hand on the crying girl who looked up, and was greeted by the rough pull of Stiles. He held her close, and listened to her sobs, and then pulled her even closer.

"Her power is getting stronger, we don't know why." He whispered to his Dad, and then indicated for him to leave, but for a moment the Sheriff hesitated.

She whispered Stiles's name, over and over, she begged him not to leave. She pleaded with him - with the energy her body could fathom, to always be in reach, because she could not lose another; and he reassured her he was not going anywhere. No, he would not leave - not because he loved her, which he did, a thousand times over, but because inside him was an anchor that tied him to her, with the same lock and the same chain than ran through his broken heart to her broken mind. He told her it was okay, and he told her everything was fine, but his mouth did not need to open because his arms had closed around her. Her burning body clung to the coolness of his chest, thinking she should hold him like this every time she sees him, just in incase. Stiles managed to calm her.

The Sheriff went to leave, picking up the discarded food as he went, and he smiled sadly to himself, and remembered, how he used to hold Claudia like that.

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